


Their Love and the War

by gypsyweaver



Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [25]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Character Death, Creepy Sandalphon (Good Omens), Death, Exposition, Gore, Graphic Injury, Ineffable Bureaucracy, Ligur Lives (Good Omens), Other, Plot, Sandalphon Being an Asshole (Good Omens), She/Her pronouns for War, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:50:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26550154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver
Summary: The first rider is Pestilence, and the second is War. War springs from the ashes of a dropped jar of Hellfire, and speaks to Beelzebub and Gabriel. Then Pestilence reveals something that he found while infecting Heaven.Something of great interest to Beelzebub.
Relationships: Beelzebub & Pestilence (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Sandalphon/Original Angel Character, War & Beelzebub
Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684990
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Their Love and the War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Varjo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varjo/gifts).



> CW: Aftermath of fire, death, major character death, final death, gore, blood

“Hello, poppet. I knew you’d come.” Sandalphon stood behind Beelzebub, wrapping one of his massive arms around their waist.

They struggled, but their struggles were feeble. They could see that Gabriel was bleeding. His blood ran down Nuriel’s blade.

Her smile was a hungry thing. Behind them, Sandalphon blazed. His heat penetrated Beelzebub’s flesh unpleasantly.

Gabriel’s eyes were wide and frightened.

The bite of Nuriel’s dagger must have startled him. The amphora, the one that Gabriel had been examining as Sandalphon and Nuriel attacked them, the amphora slipped from Gabriel’s nerveless hands.

Sandalphon’s grip on Beelzebub loosened, ever so slightly.

“No,” he whispered.

And Beelzebub knew.

Before the jar hit the floor, Beelzebub’s hand shot out, reaching for Gabriel. They threw up the wards, praying to whatever might be listening that the wards were strong enough. That they had been fast enough.

Hellfire is very bright, very hot, and swirls like a tornado. The sound of the fire--the roar of a creature caged too long and then released--drowned out Beelzebub’s screams as they held onto their miracles. They cried out for their love. Screamed his name into the roaring, spinning flames.

It stopped as suddenly as it started.

Beelzebub was blind for the fire’s brightness, but it faded quickly. Their empty hand hung in the air in front of their face. Nuriel’s blade, a nasty looking dagger gleaming with Gabriel’s golden blood, clattered to the floor.

Nuriel’s arm fell with it, neatly sheared at the elbow. The Hellfire had taken everything past Beelzebub’s hastily erected wards.

Gabriel, protected by Beelzebub’s wards, looked startled. But alive. Alive.

Beelzebub ran to him, leaping into his arms. To his credit, he caught them as they wrapped arms and legs around him.

They ran their hands over his face, through his hair, and down his shoulders. He was alive. He was whole. He was covered in the ash that was once Nuriel, as they were covered in what was left of Sandalphon. But, besides the ashes and a slight cut across his throat, he was fine.

Their lips met his, and they poured their relief into his mouth. A kiss that tried to reach past flesh, to taste his soul, if they could. And another, and another.

They felt themselves making a noise, something past all words. A low hum that somehow encompassed their fear, their relief, their joy in the feel of his skin beneath their hands. They healed his neck, a bare fleshwound, without even thinking about it. They miracled away the ashes from their skin and clothing, and from Gabriel's.

Once they were certain that Gabriel was whole, clean, and healthy, Beelzebub lowered their head to his shoulder. Then, the tears came.

“It was Hellfire,” they sobbed into him. “It was Dagon’s Hellfire. Raphael’s Hellfire.”

Gabriel nodded, stiffly.

The room stank of it, Dagon’s Hellfire. Hellfire smelled like honey to Beelzebub, sweet and lightly sulfuric. It probably smelled far worse to poor Gabriel.

Nothing else remained in the formerly crowded room. The Hellfire had consumed it all, books and furniture and knick-knacks, to cinders. The angels in the room (minus Gabriel) were nothing but ashes, a few burnt bones, and memories.

The marble walls, floor, and ceiling had kept the Hellfire from spreading. Hellfire was a beast--when unleashed, it would grow to fill its given space. And it ate. It ate everything that it could reach. Everything inside Sandalphon’s office had submitted to the flames.

But it was gone, and Gabriel hadn’t spoken (nor even moved, except to collect Beelzebub out of the air and to nod once). Was he in shock?

Beelzebub leaned back, and tried to meet his eyes. But Gabriel was gazing at something else. Beelzebub had to turn in his arms to see.

War stood in the ashes, most likely the ashes that were once Sandalphon. She was smiling, and her savage beauty was not lost on Beelzebub.

“No, don’t mind me,” she said. “Can I tell you something? It’s not exactly a _secret_ , but it is something that most people don’t know about me. I can share it with you, can’t I?” She chuckled. “I _love_ love. I mean, real love. Like you two. I love that.”

“But...you’re War?” Gabriel said, softly.

“I know! Wild, isn’t it?” she said, her blue eyes dancing as she spoke. “Love makes war, you know? I mean, what else would people fight over? _Really_ fight over?”

“Love and hate are two sides of the same coin,” Beelzebub said, gently. “Their true opposite is not each other, but apathy.”

“Very sage, very _wise._ Most _princely_ ,” War replied. “Okay, I tease a lot. But you’re pretty much Pesty’s _mom_ , so I’m going to play it straight with you, little fly.”

“Alright,” Beelzebub said, not liking how unsure they sounded.

“I think you are really phenomenal. Just phenomenal,” War said, her voice bold and bright. “God tortures you with all that pain and loss, Raphael’s chew toy from your first moment of consciousness, and then Sandy and his little groupie...keep you as their sex slave in a jar for a year, and then Lucifer only touches you to put a baby inside. So much sadness that she gives you. No happy. Except to take it away, like your little babies.”

She shook her head, smiling as one of her hands went, girlishly, to her mouth.

“Centuries living under so much apathy--I mean, Hell! Hell is absolute Hell! All of that...empty nothing...on top of all that pain,” War continued. “After all that _abuse_ , you can still love. And love so deeply and so completely. Wild, absolutely wild.”

“Archangel of Compassion,” Beelzebub replied, with a shrug. “Love is what I’m made for. And he’zz easy to love.”

“No, he’s not,” War laughed. “He’s _difficult_! I know--I’ve worked with him. Such a stick in the mud, walking around like he’s got Peter’s staff shoved half-way up his ass.”

“He’s good to me,” Beelzebub said, more defensively than they would have liked. “I don’t need him to be everybody’zz friend.”

“That’s true. But he’s mostly rotten,” she said, scrunching her nose up playfully.

War stepped over to them, gripped Gabriel’s bicep, and gave him a gentle squeeze. Then, she bent over and picked up Nuriel’s arm.

“Cauterized, look,” she said, holding the appendage out for Gabriel and Beelzebub’s inspection.

The flesh was blackened where the Hellfire had cut through it. The skin and muscle had contracted from the heat, pulling away from the fire-blackened bone. There was no blood.

War pulled Nuriel’s dagger from her death-clenched fist.

“My sincerest congratulations on your defeat of Sandalphon and Nuriel. I never liked them, honestly,” War said, dropping Nuriel’s pale arm to the ash-strewn floor. “You don’t mind if I borrow this, do you?”

“No,” Gabriel said. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks,” she said, giving his arm another squeeze.

“So, we’re at war, then?” Beelzebub asked War glumly.

“Oh, sugar,” War clucked. “You didn’t think that you’d get what you wanted with just Pestilence riding, did you?”

“I had hoped.”

“That’s so _admirable_ ,” War said. “Your restraint, I mean! Just discorporating them and letting them wander Heaven. The bloodless option...I mean, compared to destroying them with Hellfire.” She sighed. “But...it was never meant to be that way. We’re all supposed to be riding.”

“All of you?” Beelzebub asked. “Famine, too?”

“He won’t have a lot to do with the angels, I admit. Maybe some sightseeing? I don’t think he’s ever been Upstairs...” War said. “But our ride is only _starting_ in Heaven. He’s already had a wild time with the food shortages on Earth. It’s only going to get _better_.”

Beelzebub lowered their head back to Gabriel’s shoulder. They felt very old suddenly. Old and tired.

“It was the wardrobes, wasn’t it?” Gabriel asked. “The armoires. They were inside, weren’t they?”

“Waiting to ambush the two of you, yeah,” War confirmed. “I was inside there with them, of course. They didn’t see me.”

“What were they planning?” Beelzebub asked.

“Oh, pretty much what Raphael did to them,” she said, examining her nails. “Discorporate your man, torment him a bit with the Hellfire. Gain your cooperation, maybe even Gabriel’s? I don’t know. Time in humanflesh was bad for ol’ Sandy.”

Beelzebub shuddered, and held tighter to Gabriel.

“Anyways, I knew that this is where the fight was going to be, so this is where I showed up.”

“Is the Almighty...does She...know?” Gabriel asked.

“I have no idea. I’d think you would know better than me,” she said. “But, look...we were called HERE. Pestilence wouldn’t be able to make the angels sick without Her permission.” War’s red jumpsuit changed to scarlet armor, gleaming malice and glory in Heaven’s perpetual light. “And the angels are getting sick.”

A wisp of silver coagulated beside War. It took a man's shape, and then Pestilence stood in the ashes of Sandalphon’s office, in white armor.

“Sis,” he said, kissing War on the cheek. His crown shone silver in the light. “Beelzebub, I found something.” He paused. “Someone.”

“Who?”

“I’ll show you. I didn’t touch him. I swear,” he said. He looked around. “What happened in here?”

“Hellfire. It was Sandalphon and Nuriel,” they explained. “Raphael had some. He left it in Sandalphon’s office. Gabriel dropped the vessel that held it, and I was barely able to...barely...”

“Hey, hey, I’m alright,” Gabriel said, stroking their hair and kissing the side of their head. “I’m fine...”

“I’ve never seen them like that,” War said.

“I have,” Pestilence replied.

“Really? When?”

“Oh, before we figured out how durable I am.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh, yeah. I fell out of a tree once--broke my neck--and they cried over me for a day and a night,” he said, with a gentle laugh. “I got lucky. You didn’t have a mom.”

“Nope, sprung fully-formed from the first war of men. Like Athena. I didn’t ever get to be a child--I’m pretty jealous of you for that, actually.” She laughed.

Beelzebub slowly disentangled themself from Gabriel. They lowered themself into the ashes and something crunched under their feet. They looked down, and Nuriel’s broken skull looked up at them.

They sighed and their shoulders drooped.

“Should I bother with hiding myself?” Beelzebub asked.

“They’re already coughing,” Pestilence said with a shrug. His eyes gleamed with the fever. “There’s not a lot of traffic where we’re going.”

“Where are we going?” Gabriel asked.

“To the white cells,” Pestilence replied. “He’s there.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Beelzebub said.

They began to shrink themself down. They flitted into Gabriel’s breast pocket, comforted by the scent of him. By the heat of his body.

By the pulse that they could sense behind them.

“Lead on,” they said.

“Coming, sis?” Pestilence asked.

“No, I don’t think so.” She held out Nuriel’s dagger and watched the light glitter on the blade. On Gabriel’s golden blood that was still there, untouched by Hellfire. “I’ve got places to go, and some new friends to make.”

Beelzebub didn’t like the sound of that, but they held their tongue.

“Be seeing you, then,” Pestilence said, cheerfully.

“Oh, no doubt.”

Pestilence turned into a mist and led Gabriel out of his office, and then down the hall, past the offices of the other Archangels. From there, a staircase took them up to the eighth level. As Pestilence had promised, there was not a lot of traffic. At the lobby of the white cells, they encountered a pale angel, grey-tinged in the cheeks, coughing heavily into an ivory handkerchief.

He was a cherub, and one that Beelzebub did not recognize. The fever glazed his silvery eyes.

“Puriel,” Gabriel said. “Let me in.”

"Gabriel? Where's Israfil?" the angel asked, weakly.

"No idea," Gabriel lied.

"I called for him. I think I'm sick."

"I'm sure he'll be here as soon as he can. There are a lot of sick angels."

"Oh, I see," Puriel replied.

"I have business in there...so if you could...?"

Puriel nodded. He fell into another coughing jag, but remained true to his duty. He stabbed a screen with his finger, a buzzer sounded, and Gabriel opened the blank, white door in front of them.

Pestilence floated before them, leading them through the twisting corridors, past rows of empty cells, their lights blazing in spite of their lack of occupants. Pestilence stopped in front of a cell in the very rear of Heaven’s prison.

“Oh, God,” Gabriel gasped. “Yomiel...”

Beelzebub flitted out of his pocket and landed on the narrow sill of the tiny window into the cell. They pressed their hands on the glass and peered inside.

Inside, a discorporated angel curled in on himself in one corner. In spite of the discorporation, in spite of the white wings wrapped around his shoulders, and the white robe he wore, Beelzebub recognized him immediately. The soft, hazel eyes--brown flecked with green and gold. The cloud of woolly auburn hair falling around his face. His skin, a deep golden-brown umber, looked polished beneath the harsh light of the white cell.

“Ligur,” they whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> For Varjo, who tragically has no gifts. That ends today!
> 
> Also for RBG, who helped legislate my ability to write this stuff in a home that I own without a man's signature. And to write this stuff without fear of being sued or institutionalized. May her memory be a revolution.
> 
> Notes: 
> 
> Yes, Sandalphon and Nuriel are dead. 100% destroyed. Not coming back.
> 
> Evil sows the seeds of its own destruction, and sometimes, it sows the seeds for the destruction of other evil. That was the Hellfire that Raphael obtained from Dagon, and just left with Sandalphon. It ended up in Gabriel's hands.
> 
> And Gabriel dropped it. 
> 
> He's the Archangel of Destruction in some traditions.
> 
> Ligur's resurrection to be explained in the next chapter. Also, War's friends will arrive.
> 
> Should be next weekend, y'all! Unless the tropical storm that just got tracked to turn and slam into us kills my electricity, internet, etc.
> 
> Fun times in the US. If we're not burning, we're dealing with storms. Stay safe!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love! Leave me some!


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